


Pretty Boy

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (my_mad_fatuation)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Eye Contact, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Museums, Oblivious Simon Snow, POV Simon Snow, Staring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 10:04:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_mad_fatuation/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: “He’s so pretty I think I’m gonna faint.”Sometimes I can’t stop myself from saying whatever I’m thinking, especially around Penny. It’s as if I consider her an extension of my own brain, or something.Though perhaps, when we’re in public, I should try harder not to blurt out absolutely everything the second it pops into my head.Simon and Penny decide to take the LGBTQ tour at the V&A Museum, but something--orsomeone--has captured Simon's attention more than any of the exhibits.





	Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping the next fic I'd have up would be part four of the [_I'll Tell You_ series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1262975), but it's taking longer than I expected (because writer's block sucks) so I decided to clear the pipes with a fresh fic. This one came as a prompt from Tumblr. _Anonymous_ requested Fluff #12 from [this list](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com/post/183547405517/sentence-starters), which I used as the opening line of the fic. They requested for it to be said by Simon about Baz, so that's what I've done. Hope you enjoy it, whoever you are, and I apologize for taking so long to get to it!
> 
>  
> 
> **To set the scene here, it's obviously an AU, and in this case, Simon and Baz have never met. It's pretty self-explanatory, though.**
> 
>  
> 
> I would like to make a couple disclaimers, however, because people who are familiar with the V&A museum might notice that my research on it for this fic is rather inconsistent. So yes, there is an [LGBTQ tour](https://www.vam.ac.uk/event/96W7yE6o/lgbtq-tour-2019) offered there, but I've never taken it, so I don't specify anything about it. The timing of the tour in real life, though, means that it ends about 15 minutes before the café closes, so I've decided they are in an AU where that's not the case. Hah.
> 
> And about the café, I realized after I started writing that I haven't actually been to any of the cafés at the V&A, and I was transposing a café from the Tate Modern, in my mind. So, again, creative license to do whatever the fart I want, okay? Okay. (Though I did check the V&A café menu for Earl Grey raisin scones.)
> 
> I think that is all. You may proceed.

“He’s so pretty I think I’m gonna faint.”

Well. I guess I just said that out loud.

Sometimes I can’t stop myself from saying whatever I’m thinking, especially around Penny. It’s as if I consider her an extension of my own brain, or something.

Though perhaps, when we’re in public, I should try harder not to blurt out absolutely everything the second it pops into my head.

“Hmm?” she responds, studying the museum map in her hands, like she couldn’t care less that I just said I was going to faint.

Even as I continue looking past her shoulder and not directly at her, I can tell that she still hasn’t so much as lifted her head to acknowledge me. So I punch her in the arm—lightly, ‘cause, you know, she’s my best friend—and direct her attention to a young man who just walked in behind her.

He’s stopped to read something on the wall, so I use the opportunity to watch him, since he’ll probably continue through to the exhibits and I’ll never see his devastatingly gorgeous face again.

“Oh,” Penny says, and then looks back down at her map. “Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, taking my eyes off him for barely more than a second to glance at her.

“He looks like your type.”

“How would you even know that?” I watch him slip around the corner before I scowl at Penny. “I’ve only ever dated Agatha, and she was, like, the opposite of that. How can he look like _my type_?”

“Like you said, he’s pretty,” she says with a shrug.

“That’s my type? Pretty?”

She finally looks up and meets my eyes, giving me a mocking smile. “Yes. You’re very shallow, Simon.”

I huff and turn my head away again, trying to see around the corner where the pretty boy had disappeared, but I can’t from where I’m standing. If only we weren’t doing a scheduled tour in a minute, I would consider wandering over that way just to… Well, I don’t even know what I would do. But I want to.

“Don’t even think about it,” Penny warns me, like she’s reading my thoughts—I have no idea how she does that. (Unless I said it out loud, too.) “I’m not waiting a whole month to take this tour again if we miss it. Besides, we’re doing this for _you_ , anyway.”

“You know, when I told you that I think I might be into guys, it wasn’t actually so that you could drag me to an LGBTQ tour of the V&A. Shockingly.”

She sighs impatiently. “You like museums, though.”

“Yeah, when I can just walk around and peruse the things that catch my interest,” I argue. I sound like a whiny child. “I don’t want to have to _learn_ stuff.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Besides,” I continue, choosing to ignore her tone. “I don’t even know for sure that I’m… any of those letters.”

“You don’t need to be to go on the tour, obviously.”

“I know, but…”

“And you just told me that guy was so pretty you were going to faint, so—”

“He is, though! That’s just an observation of fact, Penny. It actually pisses me off more than anything.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Anyway, I don’t—Oh no.” I stop breathing once he comes back into my line of vision and I realize he’s walking right towards us.

It’s not until he and I make awkward eye contact that I look away, keeping my focus on Penny as I feel my face heat up.

“Why is he coming this way?” I whisper aggressively as I grip her wrist.

She winces and pulls her arm out of my too-tight grasp, but then she raises her eyebrows and slightly nods her head to the side.

Without turning my head, I let my eyes wander in that direction and find him standing a few feet away, though he’s facing the sign for the meeting point of the tour. He must be waiting for it to start, as well. He pulls out his mobile, like he’s checking the time, before he side-eyes me. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m watching him.

It’s rather embarrassing to get caught staring twice in a row, so I quickly focus on the wall behind him, pretending that I was just looking past him the whole time. Yeah… Convincing, I’ll bet.

Thankfully, the tour guide shows up before I can humiliate myself any further, and asks for everyone taking the tour to gather around her so we can get started.

Penny turns around, and I shuffle along behind her towards the tour guide.

The pretty boy moves in closer to the guide as well, until he ends up right next to me, so close that I could probably bump him with my elbow if I tried. (I’m more worried about bumping him with my elbow by accident, though.)

I think—I _think_ —I remember how breathing works. In and out, right? Steadily. _Does breathing always take this much concentration?_ I feel like it’s not usually this complicated.

I place a hand on Penny’s shoulder to ground myself, and she glances back at me to make sure I’m all right. I offer her a weak smile and her eyes dart off to my side when she figures out why I’m suddenly holding onto her for dear life.

I can tell by the way her expression shifts that he’s just caught her looking at him, too, though she just smiles at him instead of looking away, like I did. She even says hello to him—the tour guide is privately answering someone’s question ahead of us before we begin, so I guess Penny thinks there’s time to strike up a conversation with Pretty Boy.

The most surprising part is that he says hello back. He has a voice! And it’s just as beautiful as the rest of him, though rather posh-sounding, which makes me want to flee even more.

What is Penny thinking, anyway? Posh pretty boys don’t give people like us the time of day, so I can’t imagine where she expects this conversation to go.

“We’re not together,” she adds, and I frown at her, because that certainly wasn’t where I expected the conversation to go, either.

“Excuse me?” he replies. He’s probably just as confused as I am.

“Me and Simon,” she says as she pats my hand that’s on her shoulder, and then pushes it off.

I glance over at him, trying not to turn my head much, and find him watching the two of us suspiciously, his eyes darting back and forth between us.

“All… right…” he says, like he still doesn’t get it.

“I’m just saying, he’s single—”

“Penny!” I hiss at her, lowering my head as I angle it away from Pretty Boy, to hide the fact that my face must be red with embarrassment.

“I see.” His voice sounds smug, almost amused, like he thinks my humiliation is funny.

I hate this guy already.

Thankfully, the guide speaks up again and instructs us to follow her to the first exhibit on the tour, so we all start to move forward in a cluster.

I can feel the heat radiating off my face, extremely aware of his presence next to me. When I try to sneak another peek at him—because I am a hopeless disaster of a person, I guess—he notices, yet again, and gives me a condescending look, with one eyebrow lifted. (I don’t know how he does that so well. I can’t get mine to move independently from one another.)

Of course, I turn away as quickly as I can, but he manages to attract my attention all through the tour, as hard as I try to ignore him.

I’m unable to focus on anything the tour guide is talking about, though at least Pretty Boy moved away from my side once we reached the first display, so he could go take a closer look at it. I just looked at him, instead.

Every once in a while he catches me, though, and I find myself extremely grateful for the fact that I have no idea who he is and I’ll never have to see him again, because I don’t know that I could live this down otherwise.

I think I’m actually glaring at him, by the end. His face is making me angry. I’m mostly angry with myself, for not being able to keep my eyes off him.

But I’m also angry with him, for walking around so nonchalantly; it’s like he doesn’t even care that his presence is crushing me. And he knows it, too, because he’s started smirking when he catches me now.

The tour ends after the longest hour of my life, and I realize that I didn’t pay attention to a word of it. Even now, I’m too busy watching Pretty Boy go up to the tour guide to ask something, that I don’t quite register that Penny is talking to me until I hear the word, “eat.”

“Sorry, what?” I say to her, finally snapping out of my daze to look at her.

“I asked if you want to go get something to eat from the café,” she replies impatiently.

“Er, yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” I nod over-emphatically as I start to push her towards the nearest doorway to get out of here.

Even though I try not to look back over my shoulder as we walk out, I can’t seem to help myself. Pretty Boy notices—of course he does—but he doesn’t smirk at me or look smug at all this time. He just gives me a sad half-smile, which makes it feel like I’m getting stabbed in the chest.

He sure knows how to push my buttons, doesn’t he?

I seriously hate this guy.

When Penny and I get to the café, I go up to order for us while she snags a table, since there aren’t many open at the moment. There’s a bit of a queue at the counter, too, but it gives me time to see what sort of cakes and things they have available.

“The Earl Grey raisin scone is very nice.”

That voice sends chills down my spine, and I look back over my shoulder to see Pretty Boy standing there, smirking at me again.

“If you like bergamot,” he adds.

I blink excessively for a moment before I can even come up with a response, and when I do, it’s simply, “What?”

“I think they probably soak the raisins in Earl Grey tea before adding them,” he says, although that doesn’t answer my question at all.

 _I meant, what the hell are you doing here?_ But I don’t say that to him, of course. Instead I tell him that it sounds rather pretentious. For some reason, that makes him laugh.

“I suppose it does,” he says, though it doesn’t quite feel like he’s mocking me…

I don’t actually know what it feels like, but the queue has moved enough that the lady behind the counter is asking what I’d like to order. In a panic, I end up ordering two English Breakfast teas and two raisin scones, because I sort of want to know what the fuss is about them.

“Make that three of each,” Pretty Boy says, stepping right up next to me. He’s close enough that his elbow does actually bump me when he takes his mobile out of his pocket.

I don’t understand what’s happening until it’s too late to stop it. The woman rings up our orders together, and before I can correct her, he’s already tapping his mobile on the reader to pay for it.

Either he just bought my tea and scone for me—as well as Penny’s—or he tricked his way into jumping the queue so he could order the last ones out from under me. I figure the latter is more likely, except there are plenty more scones in the display case.

The woman loads a tray with three cups of tea and three scones—including jam and clotted cream, which looks so good it makes me want to cry—and he nudges me out of the way so he can take it. Perhaps he is planning on running off with them.

“Is that where you’re sitting?” he asks with a nod towards Penny over near the wall.

“Er, yeah…” I say uncertainly.

He starts heading that way, so I follow, because I don’t know what else to do.

When Penny looks up and sees both of us walking towards her, I try to make deliberate eye contact to convey how extremely confused I am right now. But she just smiles. As if my discomfort amuses her.

“Are you joining us?” she asks when Pretty Boy sets the tray down, and I slip into the seat across from her.

“Oh, no, I was just bringing these over,” he says, though he sounds less sure of himself than he did before. He picks up one of the mugs and small plates before adding, “I’ll find my own table…”

“Don’t be silly,” Penny says, even though he’s already looking around for an empty one. “We’ve got room.”

Either she doesn’t notice me glaring at her or she doesn’t care. She just continues smiling pleasantly at him until he walks behind my chair to sit down next to me. He keeps his head lowered, though, and I wonder if he’s as embarrassed as I am right now.

Actually, that’s impossible. No one has ever been as embarrassed as I am right now.

Penny glances at me briefly, and I can see that look in her eye. The one she gets when she’s scheming. But she turns her attention back to Pretty Boy before I can nonverbally tell her to quit it.

“I’m Penny,” she says to him. “And this is Simon.”

“So I gathered,” he replies, a hint of smugness returning to his voice. “I’m Baz.”

“Baz. Is that short for something?”

“Yes, it’s short for None of Your Business,” he says. The smirk he gives her is playful, though, like he’s joking around with a friend. It makes her laugh.

That was not the kind of smirk he’d given me before, certainly. I got the sinister, I’m Plotting Against You smirk. (The worst part was that it made him seem even more attractive, somehow.)

He and Penny discuss some of the highlights of the tour while I eat my scone, as well as half of Penny’s—turns out they are really good, after all—but I’m not paying attention. It’s taking all of my willpower to make myself not just stare at him, point-blank.

“Simon’s really into Ancient Greece,” she says, and the sound of my name draws me out of my own head a little. She’s looking at me expectantly now. “Isn’t that right?”

“Um. What?” I say stupidly.

“Ancient Greece,” she repeats. “It’s your favourite section of the British Museum.”

“Er, I mean, yeah, the Parthenon stuff is kind of interesting, I guess…”

“Is that so?” Baz says, and when I look over I see his I’m Plotting Against You smirk is back. “Maybe you could show me around there some time and explain it all.”

I feel like I’m getting redder. Is that even possible?

“Um, well, I mean, I—I don’t—It’s not like—I just read the plaques!” I sound like an idiot, I know. A flustered one at that.

“Then you can read them to me, how about that?” He’s making fun of me, I’m sure, but I don’t exactly know how.

I get defensive, anyway. “What, can’t you read blocks of text?”

“Better than you can read social cues, apparently.”

Penny snorts.

“What?” I say again. Still stupidly.

He glances over at her like they’re in on some joke that I don’t get at all. Maybe I should have been paying more attention during the tour.

“Have you got a pen?” he asks her, and she immediately starts rummaging through her shoulder bag to procure one for him.

He clicks it open and closed a couple of times as he scans the table—I have no idea what for—but then Penny pulls the museum map out of her bag as well and hands it to him.

With a _thank you_ nod in her direction, he flips the map over and starts writing in a blank area, using very small and very neat handwriting.

“Right, well,” he says as he clicks the pen shut one final time and rises to his feet, “I’ve got to run. But I hope you’ll give it some thought.” He gives me a patronizing double pat on the shoulder as he walks past, and I crane my neck around to keep my eyes fixed on him.

He and Penny exchange goodbyes, but he just lifts his eyebrows at me as he backs away for a moment, and then turns around to leave.

I watch him until he’s completely out of sight before looking back at Penny. “What a prick,” I mutter, loud enough for her to hear me.

She rolls her eyes and then pushes my nearly empty mug of tea out of the way so she can shove the map right in front of me. “You know I love you, Simon, but you can be quite dense sometimes.”

I frown at her and look down at the map, where Baz had written on it.

There’s a phone number, right below his name, _“Baz, AKA Pretentious Museum Guy_ ,” and above the words, _“Let me know when you feel like teaching me about Ancient Greece.”_

“What?” I say, somehow even more stupidly than before. “He didn’t—Why would he—What’s this supposed to—He can’t—Why me?”

“What do you mean, why you?” she asks.

“He’s too pretty!” I say, slamming my hands on the table to emphasize my point. “Why would he give me his number?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, Simon. Maybe because the cute guy he met at a queer-friendly event couldn’t stop ogling him for three seconds the whole time.”

“You—You think he thinks I’m cute?”

“ _Simon_ ,” she groans, stretching out the syllables of my name as she drops her head in her hands, like she’s fed up with me.

I stare down at the message he wrote for—for _me_ , wow—and before I know it, I’ve pulled my mobile out of my pocket to add a new contact. “Should I wait a few days to text him or—”

“You’d better do it now, lest he meet someone else, who isn’t as clueless as you are, and you miss your chance.” She smiles sweetly at me, like she hasn’t just insulted me. (It’s fine, though. It’s what we do.)

“Good point.”

I type up a quick message and send it before I lose my nerve. _“Hi it’s Simon the clueless museum guy. This is my number. Sorry for being an idiot.”_

Setting my mobile facedown on the table, I let myself exhale, though it makes a loud buzz a few seconds later.

He’s already replied. _“Apology accepted.”_

I actually laugh a little this time, now that I know this is how he flirts. I respond in kind, though. _“Prick. :P”_

_“Is that the name for me in your contacts? Or is it Pretentious Museum Guy?”_

_“It’s Pretty Boy actually.”_

_“Funny. That’s what I put as your name. ;)”_

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, that bit where Simon is thinking to himself that Baz's smirk made him seem "even more attractive, somehow," I had to strongly resist the urge to add, "In a sexual way." All because of [awardsforgoodboys](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bn89CuknbCV/). I HOPE YOU ARE HAPPY, WORLD.
> 
> Also, I'm going to be super obnoxious and mention that I have a tumblr now for my _Carry On_ shenanigans, [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com), so feel free to befriend me over there because I am so lonely.


End file.
